The Golden Ritual
The vial is empty, Master. Aldric stared at the glass, the last drop of amber liquid clinging to the neck like a tear that refused to fall. The smell of the shop hit him first, a thick, cloying mixture of dried lavender, sulfur, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. It was a smell that had defined his life for twenty years, the scent of the Guild’s tolerance and his own quiet desperation. Silas...
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